That The Powerful Play Goes On
by navycorpsman
Summary: After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man.
1. Todd Anderson

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…If I _DID_ own the characters I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive…and Charlie would be mine…and Mr. Keating would still have his job…and Chet Danbury would have had his butt kicked by Knox…and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh, okay! LoL _Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized, _'THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED' By Robert Frost.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. First up…Todd Anderson.

* * *

**

THINKING OF TODD:

I couldn't shake the fact that I was here: at a crossroads in my life. I sat at the local coffee shop, drinking coffee, thinking back to what happened. I had just been fired for something that I wasn't sure was my fault. Sure, Welton needed a scapegoat and I was just perfect for that role. A teacher who cared about his students being able to voice their opinions; able to think for themselves.

But, all I could think of at this moment was Neil. He dared to find his voice. He dared to challenge authority and look where it landed him. He was my prized pupil, though I could never say anything. His eyes sparkled when I told him of the Dead Poets Society and I knew I had to give him that book. I could see it. He loved poetry and learning English. He came to life when we studied Shakespeare. And once I had a feeling these young men started up the DPS again, I prayed they'd be careful, but no one counted on Charlie Dalton's stunt.

I had to contain a smile and a laugh when I thought of Charlie. He was always pushing the envelope. _Phone call from God._ I still laughed at his stunt, as stupid and as reckless as it may have been. It was this stunt that led to the downfall of the newest chapter of the DPS. I sipped my coffee, remembering him in the student lounge, telling the tale of what happened in Nolan's office. Of course, he added dramatics. No one would have guessed that he had just received a thrashing from Mr. Nolan a couple hours earlier.

_**Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,**_

_**And sorry I could not travel both**_

_**And be one traveler, long I stood**_

_**And looked down one as far as I could**_

_**To where it bent in the undergrowth.**_

I felt like Frost's poem. I had a couple options. Return to London and finally get married or stay in Vermont, under the slightest hope I could see more of the impact my teaching had on these boys.

_**Then took the other, as just as fair,**_

_**And having perhaps the better claim,**_

_**Because it was grassy and wanted wear;**_

_**Though as for that the passing there**_

_**Had worn them really about the same.**_

I knew going back to Hell-ton would be risky. I knew it. She warned me, but I wanted to return. To make a difference. Well, hoping to anyhow. _'O Captain, My Captain!'_ Those words still rang in my head. Thanks to Richard Cameron, I was missing the opportunity to see Todd Anderson continue to grow.

Can't say I was bitter. The coffee was a little bitter, but I managed to drink it anyhow. I couldn't be angry or bitter. Things always happen for a reason, right? Maybe my time at Welton was done and over with because Todd Anderson finally learned to speak up with out fear.

Mr. Anderson. A shy little mole. I adored him the way any father should adore his son. I was only fifteen years older, but looking at Todd, I remembered how I was at Welton my first couple of years. '_And no, at that time I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight pound weakling. I would go to the beach and people would kick copies of Byron in my face_.' The boys slightly laughed, but it was true. And the more I taught, the more I saw myself in Todd Anderson. I wanted him to find his voice. I smiled in memory when I realised I had.

_It all started with an assignment Todd didn't do. 'Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? Isn't that your worst fear? Well, I think you're wrong. I think you have something inside of you that is worth a great deal.' I walked up to the blackboard and began to write. "'I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. W. W.' Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don't know, a yawp is a loud cry or yell. Now, Todd, I would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric "yawp." Come on. You can't yawp sitting down. Let's go. Come on. Up.'_

_Todd reluctantly stood and followed me to the front. 'You gotta get in "yawping" stance.'_

'_A yawp?' He questioned._

'_No, not just a yawp. A barbaric yawp.'_

_Todd remained at a controlled low voice. 'Yawp.'_

'_Come on, louder.' I urged._

'_Yawp.' Would he ever let go and YAWP barbarically?_

_I was disappointed. 'No, that's a mouse. Come on. Louder.'_

'_Yawp.' A more valiant try, but still not a barbaric yawp._

_I was getting frustrated with his control. 'Oh, good God, boy. Yell like a man!'_

'_YAWP!' He yelled at me. **Finally** I thought!_

'_There it is. You see, you have a barbarian in you, after all.' I beamed with pride. He tried to return to his seat but I stopped him. 'Now, you don't get away that easy.' I turned him around and pointed at the picture of Whitman above the chalkboard. 'The picture of Uncle Walt up there. What does he remind you of? Don't think. Answer. Go on.' I snapped my fingers and started circling around him._

_Todd very quietly stammered. 'A m-m-madman.'_

_Again, I pushed. 'What kind of madman? Don't think about it. Just answer again.'_

'_A c-crazy madman.'_

_I was disappointed in his words. 'No, you can do better than that. Free up your mind. Use your imagination. Say the first thing that pops into your head, even if it's total gibberish. Go on, go on.'_

'_Uh, uh, a sweaty-toothed madman.'_

_I was proudfully shocked. 'Good God, boy, there's a poet in you, after all. There, close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close 'em. Now, describe you see.'_

_I put my hands over Todd's eyes and begin to slowly spin around, hoping that this would help him find that poet that was aching to come out. 'Uh, I-I close my eyes.'_

'_Yes?'_

'_Uh, and this image floats beside me.'_

'_A sweaty-toothed madman?' I pushed, hoping he'd follow._

_He did. 'A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain.'_

_I was ecstatic. 'Oh, that's excellent. Now, give him action. Make him do something.' _

'_H-His hands reach out and choke me.'_

'_That's it. Wonderful. Wonderful.' I removed my hands from Todd but he continued to keep his eyes closed._

'_And, and all the time he's mumbling.' I can see Todd's mind working._

'_What's he mumbling?'_

'_M-Mumbling, "Truth. Truth is like, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold."'_

_The students began to laugh and Todd opened his eyes. I quickly gestured for him to close them again. 'Forget them, forget them. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket.' I knew that if Todd didn't focus on it, he'd lose the poet in him he just discovered._

'_Y-Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.'_

_Todd opened his eyes, at a class stunned and silent. After a couple moments, they cheer and clap, leaving Todd with a smile on his face._

_I pressed my forehead to his. 'Don't you forget this.'_

_**And both that morning equally lay**_

_**In leaves no step had trodden black.**_

_**Oh, I kept the first for another day!**_

_**Yet knowing how way leads on to way,**_

**_I doubted if I should ever come back_**.

I knew the moment Mr. Anderson stood on his desk, that the voice that lay dormant in him for the seventeen years of his life had been awaken. Maybe, just maybe, I had done exactly what I was called to do. I thought of the Walt Whitman poem I recited once to the boys. '**_O me, O life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?_**' Maybe I had already contributed my verse in the powerful play.

_**I shall be telling this with a sigh**_

_**Somewhere ages and ages hence:**_

_**Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—**_

_**I took the one less traveled by,**_

_**And that has made all the difference.**_


	2. Charlie Dalton

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…If I _DID_ own the characters I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive…and Charlie would be mine…and Mr. Keating would still have his job…and Chet Danbury would have had his butt kicked by Knox…and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh, okay! LoL _Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized, _'WALDEN or LIFE IN THE WOODS' By Henry David Thoreau.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Next up…Charlie Dalton. His will have a made scene since he didn't have much 'one on one' with Mr. Keating that we saw**

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Remembering Charlie:

**_I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die discover I had not lived._**

'_Seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Why does the writer use these lines?' I asked the class._

_A dark haired boy standing well behind the class answered, with a smirk. 'Because he's in a hurry.'_

'_No, ding!' I put my hand down on an imaginary buzzer. 'Thank you for playing anyway. Because we are food for worms lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die_.' Each boy just stared at me. But I wanted them to understand that they needed to do something for themselves today.

_**I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary...**_

It was only a couple days later, we were studying J. Evans Pritchard. Not my favorite subject, but I had to teach them Pritchard. It was my duty as a teacher, after all._ 'Gentlemen, open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled "Understanding Poetry"?'_

_Mr. Perry starts to read. 'Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and two, how important is that objective. Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatest becomes a relatively simple matter.'_

_I stand up and prepare to draw on the chalk board._

_Mr. Perry continues. 'If the poem's score for perfection is plotted along the horizontal of a graph, and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness.' I draw a corresponding graph on the board and my students dutifully copy it down. 'A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will - so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry._

_Neil set the book down. I turn away from the chalkboard with a smile. 'Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard.' The boys look at me in shock. 'We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry. I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it.' I notice Charlie suddenly appear to become interested in the class. 'Now I want you to rip out that page.' They look at me as if I has just gone mad. 'Go on, rip out the entire page. You heard me, rip it out. Rip it out!' None of them were listening. 'Go on, rip it out.' Suddenly, I hear a rip. I look to the back of the room. 'Thank you Mr. Dalton. Gentlemen, tell you what, don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history. Leave nothing of it. Rip it out. Rip! Be gone J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. Rip, shred, tear. Rip it out. I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard.' I could tell some of the boys were hesitant in ripping, so I look at them. ' It's not the bible, you're not going to go to hell for this. Go on, make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it.' I retreated to my room to gather a waste basket, which I did. I held it up in front of Mr. Dalton, who spat out a wad of paper. 'Thank you Mr. Dalton. Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. No, we will not have that here. No more of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now in my class you will learn to think for yourselves again. You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.'_

I hoped I was making a difference.

'_Mr. Keating?' A small voice greeted me after class._

_I was surprised that the small voice belonged to Charlie. 'Mr. Dalton. How may I be of service to you?"_

'_Do you mean it?'_

'_You need to be more specific, Mr. Dalton. I am no mind reader.'_

'_That ideas and words…my ideas and words can change the world?'_

_I smiled. 'Mr. Dalton, what do you want to change?'_

_I saw his trademark smirk. 'A lot of things, Captain.'_

'_Name one.' I urged._

'_My parents, mostly my father, want me to be a banker.'_

'_Is that what you want?'_

'_No.' He sighed._

'_What is it that you want?_

_He smiled broadly. 'I want to dance!' He spun around, making both of us laugh**. Leave it to Charlie to make something silly out of something serious**. I thought as I laughed._

'_Then you must.' I wiped a tear from my eye._

'_Seriously, Captain, I want to be a doctor. I don't know…just blood and helping people…my dad's a banker, so he thinks I should follow in his footsteps. But I'm not banker material.'_

_I smiled. 'Then change that.' (1)_

_**I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms…**  
_

_The next day, we gathered as a class, the boys in their gym uniforms, and began to read poetry. It was a silly class, but it was to prove a point. The boys were rather confused and made half hearted attempts. When Charlie reached the line, I had to urge him on, though, it seemed to be unnecessary. 'Come on, Charlie. Let it fill your soul!'_

_Charlie raised his hands over his head, looked to the sky, and shouted at the top of his lungs. 'To indeed be a god!' and kicked the ball, thus setting the standard for all the boys as to what I expected._

…_**and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.**_

'_No grades at stake, gentlemen. Just take a stroll.' After a few moments, the three boys began to march to the same beat. 'There it is.' I said and the he other boys start clapping to the rhythm of their steps._

_I began to do a cadence as I walked alongside the three young men. 'I don't know, but I've been told --'_

_The boys of the class echoed me. 'I don't know, but I've been told --'_

'_Doing poetry is bold --_

'_Doing poetry is bold --'_

'_Left, left, left-right-left. Left, left, left-right-left. Left, halt!' The boys came to a halt. 'Thank you, gentlemen. If you noticed, everyone started off with their own stride, their own pace.' I began walking very slowly, imitating the boys' walks. 'Mr. Pitts, taking his time. He knew he'll get there one day. Mr. Cameron, you could see him thinking, "Is this right? It might be right. It might be right. I know that. Maybe not. I don't know."' I then imitate Mr. Overstreet's walk, with my groin pushed forward. 'Mr. Overstreet, driven by deeper force. Yes. We know that. All right. Now, I didn't bring them up here to ridicule them. I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now, those of you -- I see the look in your eyes like, "I would've walked differently." Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, "That's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Now, I want you to find your own walk right now. Your own way of striding, pacing. Any direction. Anything you want. Whether it's proud, whether it's silly, anything. Gentlemen, the courtyard is yours._

_The students begin walking about, some walking casually, others making up silly walks. Keating notices that Charlie is still leaning up against one of the pillars._

'_You don't have to perform. Just make it for yourself. Mr. Dalton? Will you be joining us?'_

'_Exercising the right not to walk.' He smirked, still leaning against the pillar._

'_Thank you, Mr. Dalton. You just illustrated the point. Swim against the stream.'_

I was not prepared for Charlie's next stunt. I stopped writing for a moment and sipped my coffee. He was one that sought trouble, not just for trouble's sake, but Charlie Dalton wanted people to know that he had an idea of who he was and what he wanted. He didn't want to just be somebody's puppet, changing his life without asking him what he felt he wanted. That's what I so admired…it's what we all, those who had the privilege to know Charlie Dalton, so admired about him. He didn't just take the road less traveled, he claimed it as his. But, his stunt…the one that brought down the newest chapter of The Dead Poets Society…was one that none of us expected.

'_In this week of Welton's Honor there appeared a profane and unauthorized article. Rather than spend my valuable time ferreting out the guilty persons -- and let me assure you I will find them -- I'm asking any and all students who knows anything about this article to make themselves known here and now. Whoever the guilty persons are, this is your only chance to avoid expulsion from this school.' Mr. Nolan's voice was serious._

_We didn't have to wait long to find out who the guilty party was. The sound of a phone ringing was heard._

'_Welton Academy. Hello. Yes, he is. Just a moment.' Charlie stood up, holding a phone and bell in his hands. With no fear, Charlie looks up at Mr. Nolan, holing the receiver out to the headmaster. 'Mr. Nolan, it's for you. It's God. He says we should have girls at Welton.' While some students laugh, I shake my head in disbelief. I knew Charlie Dalton would push issues, but this? Never._

_I open the door to the student lounge and many of the boys get up from their seats. 'It's all right, gentlemen.' I remark._

_Charlie seems surprised to see me. 'Mr. Keating.'_

_I try to hide my disappointment in him. 'Mr. Dalton. That was a pretty lame stunt you pulled today.'_

'_You're siding with Mr. Nolan? What about "Carpe diem" and sucking all the marrow out of life and all that?'_

_I can not help but be impressed by him, but it still didn't excuse what he did. 'Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone. Sure there's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for._

_Charlie seemed defeated. 'But I thought you'd like that.'_

'_No. You being expelled from school is not daring to me. It's stupid, 'cause you'll miss some golden opportunities._

_Charlie huffed. 'Yeah. Like what?'_

_I smile. 'Like, if nothing else, the opportunity to attend my classes. Got it, Ace?'_

_It finally sunk in and Charlie smiled. 'Aye, aye, Captain.'_

'_Keep your head about you. That goes for the lot of you.'_

_All the boys responded 'Yes, Captain.'_

_Still, I couldn't help being impressed. 'Phone call from God. If it had been collect, that would have been daring.'_

_**I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life… when I came to die, to discover that I had not lived.**_

Maybe Charlie Dalton will discover, when he comes to die, that he indeed lived.

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(1) This is a completely made up scene. Hope you like! 


	3. Stephen Meeks

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…If I _DID_ own the characters I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive…and Charlie would be mine…and Mr. Keating would still have his job…and Chet Danbury would have had his butt kicked by Knox…and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh, okay! LoL _Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized, _'Legends' By Stephen Crane.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Next up…Stephen Meeks. His will some made up scenes since he didn't have much 'one on one' with Mr. Keating that we saw.**

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Memories Of Meeks

I continue to write in the journal I've kept, still wondering about the impact I had on the young men in my class, especially those who formed the newest chapter of The Dead Poets Society. The young man behind the counter, with his curly hair and glasses, reminds me of Meeks. Stephen Meeks. **_An exceptional boy_** I think and I smile.

_Mr. Pitts looks at me like I've asked him to solve world hunger. '"To the virgins, to make much of time"?'_

_I nod. 'Yes, that's the one. Somewhat appropriate, isn't it?'_

_Though unsure, Mr. Pitts reads. '"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, while time is still a flying, and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying."'_

'_Thank you Mr. Pitts. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem. Now who knows what that means?_

_A curly glasses wearing student puts his hand up and answered me. 'Carpe Diem. That's "seize the day."' He had paid attention in Latin class._

'_Very good, Mr. -'_

'_Meeks.'_

_I grin. 'Meeks. Another unusual name._'

**_A man builded a bugle for the storms to blow. The focused winds hurled him afar. He said that the instrument was a failure._**

Of course, Mr. Meeks is good-natured and merely smiles. He wasn't like the others and that was something I knew right away. A guy like Mr. Meeks…well, they come along only once in a lifetime and that's if you're lucky enough to be born at just the right time.

He was smart. No doubt about that. I pegged him as a quiet closet Tennyson. After all, the poem he wrote for my class just blew me away!

_He took his turn just after Mr. Priske. He stood there, debating a moment before sighing and reading, his eyes firmly planted on Neil._

**'_In dark, there is no life._**

**_In life, there is no dark._**

**_In future, there is no past._**

**_The past has already left its mark._**

**_We can not dream of what was_**

**_But dare we dream of what could be?_**

**_But in life, there shouldn't be such dark_**

**_Surrounded by pain and by misery._**

**_One seeks to matter to someone_**

**_Only left to find only pain._**

**_When one finds no more strength_**

**_When all of life seems to be in vain,_**

**_The darkness of life is a cloud_**

**_That covers all who its shade seek_**

**_A smothering, painful shroud_**

**_Full of nothing but pain and misery._**

**_And why should this darkness, so harsh be?_**

**_Why is it even here in this existence?_**

**_Why does it overwhelm you and me_**

**_And what does it hope to accomplish?_**

**_In life, no dark should ever allowed to be_**

**_And in dark, no life could ever hope to be._**

**_And so on and on the war goes_**

**_Leaving in its trail only pain and misery.' (1)_**

_None of us dared to breath or even to move. We just simply looked at him. No one knew that Stephen Meeks, with all his knowledge, had that depth. I was simply taken aback. Was it caused by an unseen pain? Or was it just him freeing up his mind, allowing the poetry to flow through?_

'_Beautiful.' I had many questions, but also a class to teach. 'Mr. Overstreet, care to share yours?' (2)_

_**When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: "Why?" **_

_**He replied: "Because no one admired me."**_

As I sat at the table, writing and drinking coffee, I lightly laugh to myself. Mr. Meeks may have been a genius, but he was also one who was willing to pull practical jokes. Never malicious, but funny nonetheless.

'_NOT FUNNY, MEEKS!' The normally soft-spoken Mr. Pitts yelled._

'_Gentlemen.' I opened my door. 'What seems to be the trouble?'_

_Charlie Dalton merely laughed. 'I think I have rubbed off on Meeks!' He nearly doubled over in a fit of hysterics. 'I never knew Meeks had it in him. All this time…'_

_Mr. Pitts remained angry looking. 'It wasn't funny, Charlie.'_

'_Come on, Pittsie. It was hysterical!' Charlie pleaded._

'_What happened?' I pushed for more answers._

_Meeks uncharacteristically looked timidly at me. 'I hid the science project he was working on.'_

'_The one we've both been working on and look how long it took!' I could tell Mr. Pitts was not happy._

_I knew I should not have laughed, but I found I couldn't help it. 'Mr. Pitts, I assure you that there was no harm to your project and there's something in life you must learn.' I looked around at the young faces looking at me, seemingly anxious for what I was going to say. 'There are times that jokes are pulled on us at our expenses. I know. Jimmy Talfar pulled one on me that nearly got me expelled, but the point is that you need to know how to respond, Mr. Pitts.'_

_He looked at me. 'How?'_

_I smiled. 'Revenge.' I winked at Meeks, who was laughing despite Mr. Pitts being angry. (3)_

_**A man said: "Thou tree!" **_

_**The tree answered with the same scorn: "Thou man! **_

_**Thou art greater than I only in thy possibilities."**_

I smiled to myself when I remembered how angry Mr. Pitts was and how hard the others were laughing. I hoped that they would all grow strong enough to take a joke and give one back. Mr. Meeks certainly got his back, and then some. Charlie, ever the prankster, helped Pitts pull it off and Mr. Meeks, ever the gracious one, handled it with the grace and dignity one associated with him. Mr. Pitts pulled a joke that would have angered anyone, especially someone who took schoolwork seriously, as Mr. Meeks did. But, to this day, I'll always remember how beautifully gracious Mr. Meeks handled it.

_Mr. Meeks was the last one to sit in my class, looking all over his desk and in his books. 'I can't…they can't be gone.'_

'_Mr. Meeks? What's the trouble?' I looked up from my notes._

'_I can't find my Latin notes. We've got this big test coming up and I can't find my notes.' He was starting to stress._

'_Where do you last remember having them?' I stood up to help in the search, but as I approached his desk, I noticed Mr. Pitts, Mr. Overstreet, and Mr. Dalton all grinning ear to ear. I never took my eyes off of them. 'I wouldn't stress too much. I'm sure Mr. Dalton took excellent notes and will help you study. Won't you, Mr. Dalton?'_

_I saw Charlie's smile fade. 'Yes, Captain.' I could hear the heavy sigh._

'_Mr. Overstreet is also quite the scholar, so he'll help too. Right, Mr. Overstreet?'_

_Knox sighed. 'Yes, Captain.'_

'_And, Mr. Pitts. I know what a scholar he is…'_

'_I'll help him study, Captain.' Mr. Pitts read my mind._

_Mr. Meeks looked back at the three of them and smiled. He held up a notebook. 'Never mind. I just found them.' I swore he winked at the three co-conspirators. 'I just kept looking over the same notebook, forgetting I have a new one for Latin class.' He stood up. 'Thanks, Captain.'_

_I smiled. 'Welcome.' (4)_

_**A warrior stood upon a peak and defied the stars. **_

_**A little magpie, happening there, desired the soldier's plume, and so plucked it.**_

I knew I'd miss the times with these wonderful young men. All of who changed me to one degree or another. Mr. Meeks taught me he really lived up to his last name. I sipped my coffee and thought of a poem that reminded me of Mr. Meeks and I wrote it down. I looked out the window when I finished writing and smiled. Mr. Meeks. I would forever remember him as the quiet rebel.

_**The wind that waves the blossoms sang, sang, sang from age to age. **_

_**The flowers were made curious by this joy. **_

_**"Oh, wind," they said, "why sing you at your labour, while we, pink beneficiaries, sing not, but idle, idle, idle from age to age?"**_

* * *

(1) This is my own original piece…just gave it to Meeks. 

(2) We didn't see this in the movie (obviously) and I wanted to show a bit of Meeks and a different side that we didn't get to see, but is still keeping with his character. We all know, in the movie, it was Overstreet, Hopkins, then Anderson. Hope you like this part.

(3) & (4) Thanks to HannahCimsGwendolyn for these ideas!


	4. Gerard Pitts

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…If I _DID_ own the characters I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive…and Charlie would be mine…and Mr. Keating would still have his job…and Chet Danbury would have had his butt kicked by Knox…and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh, okay! LoL _Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized,_ 'NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER' By 'Uncle' Walt Whitman.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Next up…Gerard Pitts. His will some made up scenes since he didn't have much 'one on one' with Mr. Keating that we saw.**

* * *

Ponderings of Pitts:

_**A noiseless, patient spider, **_

**_I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,_**

The young man behind the counter, except for the glasses, reminded me of Mr. Pitts. The same buzz hair cut. The same gangly arms and same too long for his body legs. He is, undoubtedly, more spindly than Mr. Pitts, but I see a strange vague resemblance. If it hadn't have been for my knowledge that each of the boys had been put on probation, I could have sworn on a Bible that it was indeed the aforementioned Mr. Pitts in disguise.

As I drank my coffee, I smiled in memory of the shy quiet and tall one that sat just in front of Neil Perry in class and spent most of his time quietly working with Mr. Meeks on a radio. Sorry. I mean, a radar.

_I looked at the papers in my hands and called the first name I saw. "Now, Mr… Pitts. That's a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Pitts, where are you?" A pimply-faced young man in front of me raised his hand. "Mr. Pitts, would you open your hymnal to page 542 and read the first stanza of the poem you find there?"_

_He looked at me with surprise at what he was to read. "'To the virgins, to make much of time'"?_

_I smiled and nodded. "Yes, that's the one. Somewhat appropriate, doesn't it?"_

_Mr. Pitts slowly read "'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a flying, and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.'"_

"_Thank you Mr. Pitts. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'. The Latin term for that sentiment is 'Carpe Diem.'"_

_**Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, **_

**_It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament out of itself,_**

I couldn't help but smile when I thought of Mr. Pitts. I could never classify him as a troublemaker, but he could raise it if he wanted to. As I looked out the window, the memory of how much Charlie Dalton rubbed off on the young man came to mind. Mr. Pitts had two weeks detention due to it, but he never complained. He felt it was worth it.

The boys in the classes never seemed to like the one called 'Spaz'. They went out of their way to pick on him every shot they got. Mr. Hopkins was being especially cruel this one day and Mr. Pitts just had enough. True, he never cared for 'Spaz", but he didn't think the absolute bullying that Mr. Hopkins was doing was right. I stood in the hall, watching the normally quiet Pitts come to blows with the chip on my shoulder Mr. Hopkins.

"_I don't care, Hopkins. It's not funny and I think you should apologize." Mr. Pitts' voice was soft, but firm. He helped 'Spaz' to his feet._

_Hopkins smirked. "For what? It's not my fault he's a drip. Blame his parents on that one, Pitts. It's what they get for having a kid." His smile and amusement only served to incense Mr. Pitts._

_And Mr. Pitts lost it._

"_Like your parents? Having a stupid jock like you for a son? If I spot you the 'C', the 'A', and the 'T', could you still spell cat?" He looked Hopkins up and down and shrugged. "Doubt it."_

"_You calling me stupid?"_

"_If the shoe fits, Dumbass…"_

_I stepped in as Mr. Hopkins threw a punch, knocking Mr. Pitts against the wall. Had I not, the look in Mr. Pitts' eyes promised he'd hit back. "ENOUGH!" I yelled. "Both of you in my classroom…NOW!" (1)_

I hated having to punish Mr. Pitts. After all, he stood up for someone and that takes a lot of courage.

_**Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. **_

**_And you O my soul where you stand,_**

The snow outside started to gently fall as I continued drinking coffee and remembering Mr. Pitts. He was the quiet one, never seeking attention. I often wondered about him. Would he, like Todd, break out of the shell he placed himself in?

'_NOT FUNNY, MEEKS!' The normally soft-spoken Mr. Pitts yelled._

'_Gentlemen.' I opened my door. 'What seems to be the trouble?'_

_Charlie Dalton merely laughed. 'I think I have rubbed off on Meeks!' He nearly doubled over in a fit of hysterics. 'I never knew Meeks had it in him. All this time…'_

_Mr. Pitts remained angry looking. 'It wasn't funny, Charlie.'_

'_Come on, Pittsie. It was hysterical!' Charlie pleaded._

'_What happened?' I pushed for more answers._

_Meeks uncharacteristically looked timidly at me. 'I hid the science project he was working on.'_

'_The one we've both been working on and look how long it took!' I could tell Mr. Pitts was not happy._

_I knew I should not have laughed, but I found I couldn't help it. 'Mr. Pitts, I assure you that there was no harm to your project and there's something in life you must learn.' I looked around at the young faces looking at me, seemingly anxious for what I was going to say. 'There are times that jokes are pulled on us at our expenses. I know. Jimmy Talfar pulled one on me that nearly got me expelled, but the point is that you need to know how to respond, Mr. Pitts.'_

_He looked at me. 'How?'_

_I smiled. 'Revenge.' I winked at Meeks, who was laughing despite Mr. Pitts being angry (2)_

_**Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, **_

_**Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, **_

_**Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, **_

**_Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul._**

Mr. Pitts sought revenge in stealing Mr. Meeks' Latin notes. Only, he got caught. But he laughed it off and had fun helping Meeks study and found that Mr. Meeks is a great ally to have on your side. He sighed when I joked about him helping his friend study, but they were all in a study group together, so that was like asking the pot to boil water.

I shall indeed miss Mr. Pitts, but I shall smile at the memories and try not to stare at the young man behind the counter.

* * *

(1) I obviously made this scene up. I know Pittsie was quiet and no one liked 'Spaz' but I think that if it got to be too bad, Pitts would stand up for him. I didn't mention it only because I didn't know how to properly word it, but I have Hopkins physically hitting 'Spaz', knocking him to the ground and Pitts sees this and is unhappy about it.

(2) Yes. This is a carry over from _Memories of Meeks_, chapter three, but I also felt it needed to be in this story as well, as it appeared in the film, Meeks and Pitts were best friends.

(I don't know Pitts character very well and hope that somewhere in this you can see Pitts. If you see something that isn't right or would like to add something, please message me and I'll re-write this, obviously giving you credit.)


	5. Knox Overstreet

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic...If I DID own the characters, I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive...and Charlie would be mine...and Mr. Keating would still have his job...and Charlie would be mine...and Chet Danbury would have his but kicked by Knox...and Charlie would be mine...and it would have been Cameron that would have been expelled...and Charlie would be mine...and Todd would have a back bone...and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh...Okay! Well then. It's settled. Charlie would be mine if I owned the characters.** **_Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized, _'THE INDIAN SERENADE' By Percy Blythe Shelley.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Next up…Knox Overstreet. His will some made up scenes since he didn't have much 'one on one' with Mr. Keating that we saw.**

* * *

Memories of Knox:

_**I arise from dreams of thee**_

_**In the first sweet sleep of night,**_

_**When the winds are breathing low,**_

_**And the stars are shining bright;**_

_**I arise from dreams of thee,**_

I used to think it was alcohol that made you sick with nostalgia. NO! I find it's coffee. As I remain seated at the booth, drinking my coffee, I find I become more and more nostalgic. Funny, since it was just this morning I left Hell-ton. I chuckle at this thought, drinking coffee that seems to never end. The ceaseless flow of coffee. YES!

I find my nostalgia is turned to Knox Overstreet.

A neurotic obsessive mole.

"_So, Mr. Overstreet, you have no desire to be lawyer?" I ask._

_He nods. "My dad's a hotshot lawyer and everyone expects me to be as well. I mean, there are aspects of law that are appealing and interesting, but I don't know if I could do it." He sighed heavily._

"_What is it, Mr. Overstreet?" I position myself on the desk in front of him._

_He looked up at me. "I…I…uh," he paused._

"_Spit it out. What is it?" I nudged._

"_I want to make a difference. Like you said, words and ideas can change the world."_

_I have a feeling of déjà vu. I half expect him to break out in song and dance like Mr. Dalton and joke about how he wants to be a dancer. "Go on."_

"_I see the difference you've made and it really…my family won't approve, of course…but I think I'd like to be an English teacher, teaching young kids that their voices can be heard." He smiles his crooked smile at me. "I want to be like you, Cap'n." (1)_

_**And a spirit in my feet**_

_**Hath led me - who knows how?**_

_**To thy chamber-window, sweet!**_

_**The wandering airs, they faint**_

_**On the dark, the silent stream;**_

_**The champak odors fail**_

_**Like sweet thoughts in a dream;**_

_**The nightingale's complaint,**_

"Mr. Keating?" I hear a young female voice call my name.

I turned around and saw Mr. Overstreet's obsession walking to me. "Chris. Hi." I politely stand up.

"Knox told me what happened. I'm sorry." Her face shows worry.

"It's alright." I point to the empty bench across from me. "Care to join me?"

She smiles. "I don't know. Knox may think I'm trying to get his teacher." She scoots in and orders a soda.

"Things going well with you two?" I sipped my now-hot-again-bottomless coffee.

Her smile turns soft. "Yeah. He's…I don't know. So different from Chet." She looked at me. "He's a bit of a romantic." She leaned in and whispered.

I smiled as I remembered telling them about the Dead Poets Society that I was a pledge member of.

_It started with Neil Perry asking "What was the Dead Poets Society?"_

_I hesitated before answering. "I doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that." I reason._

"_Why? What was it?" I felt the boys wouldn't give up until they had answer. Mr. Perry's eyes told me so._

_So, I gave in. "Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?" They all nod and assure me they can. So, I tell them what the Dead Poets Society was. "The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That's a phrase from Thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of each meeting. You see we'd gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley; the biggies. Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment we'd let poetry work its magic."_

_Mr. Overstreet looked confused at me. "You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?"_

"_No Mr. Overstreet, it wasn't just 'guys'. We weren't a Greek organization. We were romantics. We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen, Not a bad way to spend an evening eh?"_

_I see Mr. Overstreet taking it all in._

"Mr. Keating?" Chris' voice rang again. "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry. About what?" I snapped out of my reverie.

"Me and Knox." She sipped her soda.

I merely smile. If any two young people were meant for each other, it was Knox and Chris.

_**It dies upon her heart,**_

_**As I must die on thine,**_

_**Oh, beloved as thou art!**_

_I sat out on a bench, letting the soft snowfall cover as much of me as it could. Everything seemed like a dream. None of it could really be happening. I couldn't have been dismissed. It couldn't have been my fault. I know class is in session, but I want to leave as soon as possible, telling myself that I must catch a bus. A bus to wherever. A bus I didn't have a ticket for._

_I hesitantly make my way to the class, stopping and looking at the faces I made the boys pay attention to on my first day. I studied them. Their features. Their smiles. Them. I hear Mr. Nolan teaching. I walked slowly to the door and knock._

_**Oh, lift me from the grass!**_

_**I die! I faint! I fail!**_

_**Let thy love in kisses rain**_

_**On my lips and eyelids pale.**_

_I hear Mr. Nolan yell. "Come"_

_I slowly open the door, aware that the boys quickly turn away when they see it's me. "Excuse me. I came for my personals. Should I come back after class?"_

"_Get them now, Mr. Keating." Mr. Nolan's voice is sharp and short. As I gather some of my things, I hear Mr. Nolan ask them to turn to "page 21 of the introduction. Mr. Cameron, read aloud the excellent essay by Dr. Pritchard on 'Understanding Poetry.'"_

_Reading is stopped as I make my way back out the way I came from. I felt as unwanted as snow on the Fourth of July. Mr. Anderson says something, and I believe him. He started the whole thing._

_A couple minutes after Todd Anderson stood on his desk, I hear Mr. Overstreet. "Oh Captain, MY Captain."_

_I am touched and moved beyond words. The only words I have to say to the young men on their desks, getting yelled at is "Thank you, boys. Thank you._

_**My cheek is cold and white, alas!**_

_**My heart beats loud and fast:**_

_**Oh! Press it close to thine again,**_

_**Where it will break at last!**_

* * *

(1) Of course a made up scene. But, I thought it would be nice if one of the boys told him that he's making a difference and they want to strive to be like him. I don't know. Knox just seemed to be the one. –Shrugs–

I wasn't sure what all to put for Knox, so I thought it would be kinda cool to bring Chris into the mix, a chance meeting at the coffee shop. It work? I also hoped it would allow you (the reader) to see that Knox and Chris started to date (as well ALL knew they would). Please let me know what you think.

And the story wanted Mr. Keating to mention the ending in Knox's story because Knox stood on his desk. What the story wants...the story gets. Now...if only it could get me Charlie.


	6. Richard Cameron

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic...If I DID own the characters, I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive...and Charlie would be mine...and Mr. Keating would still have his job...and Charlie would be mine...and Chet Danbury would have his but kicked by Knox...and Charlie would be mine...and it would have been Cameron that would have been expelled...and Charlie would be mine...and Todd would have a back bone...and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh...Okay! Well then. It's settled. Charlie would be mine if I owned the characters.** **LoL _Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized, 'WHEN IN DISGRACE_' By William Shakespeare.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Next up…Richard Cameron. His will have some made up scenes.**

* * *

Pausing on Cameron:

_**When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,**_

_**I all alone beweep my outcast state,**_

Chris bid me a farewell and I watched her leave. It was easy to see why Knox loved her so. Sweet and charming. Just how a woman should be. Really, how anyone should be. As I think of her and Knox and all the plans they're making, I find myself looking at my cup of coffee and realizing why I'm here.

I don't know if I should hate Richard Cameron or feel sorry for him.

Unlike the others, he never seemed to grasp the idea of 'Carpe Diem'. To him, life was all about orders and rules and it would be the way the superiors said it would be. No grey area.

_I have Neil Perry read J. Evans Pritchard's INTRODUCTION TO POETRY. I let him finish before I say what I think. "Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe. We're talking about poetry. I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it. Now I want you to rip out that page." The boys look at me like I'm nuts, but I insist. I see Cameron still hesitating. "It's not the Bible, you're not going to go to hell for this. Go on, make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it." As he looks to Neil for help, I tell the boys to rip out the entire introduction._

_**And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,**_

_**And look upon myself and curse my fate,**_

_**Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,**_

I smile in memory of that class. It was the first time that the boys discovered themselves. But as I continue to sit and remember my few months at Welton as a teacher, I remember Richard Cameron and his refusal to bend.

"_Come on, Charlie. The rules simply state…"_

"_Screw the rules for once, Cameron." I hear Neil Perry speak. "Don't you get it?"_

"_Get what?" I hear confusion in Mr. Cameron's voice._

"_This isn't anyone's life. This is ours. If we don't speak now…doesn't Mr. Keating's words mean anything to you?" Neil continues to push. I can only imagine the determination to live in his eyes._

"_Charlie…"_

"_It's okay, Cameron." Charlie's voice is uncharacteristically soft, which I assume is him trying to convince Cameron whatever they're plotting is okay._

"_Todd?" Cameron asks. "What about you?" I know Todd Anderson is a quiet young man who never speaks up._

"_I…I'm okay wi…with it." The shy mole stutters out._

_I can only imagine the look of victory on Charlie Dalton's face as he quietly chuckles. "There you go, Cameron. Todd's doing it. Why not you?"_

_As I walked off, I wished I knew what they were talking about. (1)_

_**Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,**_

_**Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,**_

_**With what I most enjoy contented least,**_

The coffee house is now filling up as people get off work and out of class. I look around and I see Mr. McAllister getting a cup of coffee. He sees me and joins me. "John."

"George." The reply is subtle and yet warm. George McAllister was one of the few teachers I trusted.

"You've been here all day?"

"Since about one, yeah." I closed my journal and looked at him. "Just thinking. Coffee helps one think."

"I always thought you were more a tea drinker." He smiled.

He's right. But right at that moment, I'm driven to drink coffee. Not sure as to why. Maybe it's got the same effect as alcohol, but doesn't leave you drunk. "Coffee just seemed a good choice."

_**Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,**_

_**Haply I think on thee, and then my state,**_

_**Like to the lark at break of day arising**_

_I see Mr. Cameron sitting across from Mr. Nolan, looking rather impishly smug. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" I hesitate._

"_Shut the door, Mr. Keating." Nolan's voice is demanding, never a good sign. I follow directions, never taking my eyes off of Mr. Cameron. "Mr. Cameron informs us that you encouraged the boys to start a newer version of The Dead Poets Society."_

"_They asked and…" I began._

"_And that despite Mr. Perry's objections, you encouraged Neil Perry to pursue acting."_

"_He said that his father was okay with it if his grades were up…" Again, I was interrupted._

"_And that you bend the rules and break codes that are long instilled in Walton's honor. How do you explain yourself, Mr. Keating?"_

_I looked at Mr. Nolan. "Apparently, I don't have to. You have already decided what the explanations are." I stood up. "Do you want me to resign or are you firing me?" I looked stoically at Mr. Cameron, who now seemed uncomfortable._

"_Firing you, Mr. Keating." Mr. Nolan's voice was stiff and uncaring. "You are to be gone by the end of the week."_

"_Fine." I looked at Mr. Cameron. "I'll start packing now." I turned and left, not knowing if I should hate Mr. Cameron or not. (2)_

_**From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate**_

_**For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,**_

_**That then I scorn to change my state with kings.**_

* * *

(1) This is obviously made up. Not even I have a clue of what they're talking about. The story liked the idea of Mr. Keating eavesdropping, but not stopping anything because he remembers being a young man trying to find his voice. Hope you all liked. Feel free to pretend it's whatever you want it to be! LoL 

(2) Again, another made up scene. Hope it's okay.


	7. Neil Perry

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic...If I DID own the characters, I'd have Charlie all to myself! And Neil would still be alive...and Charlie would be mine...and Mr. Keating would still have his job...and Charlie would be mine...and Chet Danbury would have his butt kicked by Knox...and Charlie would be mine...and it would have been Cameron that would have been expelled...and Charlie would be mine...and Todd would have a back bone...and did I mention Charlie would be mine? I did? Oh...Okay! Well then. It's settled. Charlie would be mine if I owned the characters.** ** _Italics are quotes taken right from the movie. Thanks to the brilliant writers for wonderful quotes and scenes to write fabulous stories around!_**

**The poem is, bolded and _italicized, _"OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN" By Walt Whitman.**

**This will be a 7 or 8 chapter story. After Mr. Keating leaves Welton, he sits at a coffee shop and thinks of each boy and what difference he made or could have made in each young man. Last, but certainly not least…Neil Perry. His will more than likely be an extra long chapter, as it was apparent he was Mr. Keating's fave student and there's more one on one with Perry and Keating.**

* * *

Remembrances of Neil:

_**O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,**_

_**The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,**_

_I stood looking at the new faces. Hard to believe I was back at Hell-ton as a teacher. Oh, I had been warned. I had been warned plenty. "You'll never be able to change Welton, John. It is far too steeped in tradition." I remember hearing my mother's voice when I rang her to tell her._

_ My father, on the other hand, laughed. "Yes, but he'll try. He broke the rules once and I assure you, Stella, he'll break them again. Go get 'em tiger." (1)_

I knew I wouldn't have intentionally let my parents down. As I sipped my coffee, I began to wish I had listened to my mother. I smiled as I heard her words growing up, every time I did opposite of what she said. "John," she'd state. "One day you'll grow up and wish you listened to me."I knew that she was right because at this moment I wish I had listened to her.

_One of my first classes, I wanted the boys to learn that poetry was life and life was poetry. Sure they looked at me like I was nuts, but when they huddled around, I explained to them. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman: 'O me, O life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse'". I see Neil's face light up. "What will your verse be?"_

_**The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,**_

_**While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;**_

It was shortly there after, I do believe, that the boys, having placed their grubby little fingers on my old annual, decided to form the newest chapter of The Dead Poets Society.

_I started walking down towards the lake, whistling Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. I heard Neil yelling, but wanted to have some fun. "Mr. Keating? Mr. Keating? Sir? Oh Captain, My Captain?"_

_I immediately turn around, grinning, causing the boys to laugh. "Gentlemen."_

"_We were just looking in your old annual." I see my old annual in Neil's hands and he hands it to me._

_I see my picture and I start nervously laughing. "Oh my God. No, that's not me. Stanley "The Tool" Wilson -" I crouch down and continue to look through the book. "God!"_

_Neil crouched down next to me and asks "What was the Dead Poets Society?"_

_I was taken aback by Neil's boldness. "I doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that."_

"_Why? What was it?" Give him kudos for being bold and wanting to know._

_I face them. "Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?"_

_They all nod and reply "Sure." and crouch down around me._

_Now, I had to explain what the Dead Poets Society was, after nearly fifteen years of telling no one. "The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That's a phrase from Thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of each meeting. You see we'd gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley; the biggies. Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment we'd let poetry work its magic."_

_Knox Overstreet knocked me over with his question. "You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?"_

_I smile. "No Mr. Overstreet, it wasn't just 'guys', we weren't a Greek organization, we were romantics. We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen. Not a bad way to spend an evening eh? Thank you Mr. Perry for this trip down amnesia lane. Burn that, especially my picture." I hand the annual back and walk away, whistling once again_.

_**But O heart! heart! heart!**_

_**O the bleeding drops of red,**_

_I looked around the room. Hard to believe two hormone infested teenage boys lived in it. There was so little clutter, due to Welton standards of cleanliness. A place for everything and everything in it's place. Beds perfectly made, almost to military standads. Nothing allowed on the walls. Nothing had changed since my days at Hell-ton. It wasn't hard to tell which side of the room was Neil's. I saw a picture of him with his mother and father on his desk and I smiled briefly before setting FIVE CENTURIES OF VERSE on his desk. The very same one I had when I was a member of the Dead Poets._

Now, I sit here, in this coffee shop, thinking about that moment. What if I hadn't lied and said Neil left a book in my class and I wanted to ensure he got it?(o) What if I hadn't told them about the Dead Poets Society? What if I warmed up my now cold coffee? But life is full of "What ifs". And there's nothing you can do to change that. I could "What If" my life away.

The fact remained that I tried to make a difference and Neil was dead because of it. Was I to blame as the school and Mr. Perry said I was? Part of me wondered that.

_I was seated at my desk, a letter to Anne when there was a small knock on the door. "It's open." I was surprised to see Neil, looking nervous. "Neil, what's up?"_

"_Can I speak to you a minute?"_

"_Certainly. Sit down."_

_Neil tries to sit, but I have little room and so I have books on the chair. He smiled and handed me the books. "I'm sorry. Here."_

_I take the books and smile back, knowing that it should be me who apologies. "Excuse me. Get you some tea?"_

"_Tea. Sure."_

"_Like some milk or sugar in that?"_

"_No, thanks." He looks around my room as I give him his cup. "Gosh, they don't give you much room around here."_

"_No, it's part of the monastic oath. They don't want worldly things distracting me from my teaching."_

_Neil looked at the photo on the desk. "She's pretty."_

"_She's also in London. Makes it a little difficult."_

"_How can you stand it?" His voice trembled._

"_Stand what?"_

"_You can go anywhere. You can do anything. How can you stand being here?" I knew that when he said **here** he meant Welton._

"_Cause I love teaching. I don't wanna be anywhere else." But I sensed this wasn't the problem "What's up?"_

"_I just talked to my father. He's making me quit the play at Henley Hall. Acting's everything to me. I-- But he doesn't know. He-- I can see his point. We're not a rich family like Charlie's, and we-- But he's planning the rest of my life for me, and I-- H-He's never asked me what I want" I could tell Neil was troubled by not being able to talk to his father._

"_Have you ever told your father what you just told me? About your passion for acting. You ever show him that?"_

"_I can't." He stammered._

"_Why not?"_

"_I can't talk to him this way."_

"_Then you're acting for him, too. You're playing the part of the dutiful son. I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You have to show him who you are, what your heart is." I wanted to encourage Neil._

"_I know what he'll say. He'll tell me that acting's a whim, and I should forget it. That how they're counting on me. He'll just tell me to put it out of my mind, "for my own good.""_

"_You are not an indentured servant. If it's not a whim for you, you prove it to him by your conviction and your passion. You show him that And if he still doesn't believe you, well, by then you'll be out of school and you can do anything you want." Neil had backbone, but he didn't know how to be strong and I wanted him to be._

_A tear fell down Neil's cheek and he wiped it away. "No. What about the play? The show's tomorrow night." He sounded hurried and scared._

"_Well, you have to talk to him before tomorrow night."_

"_Isn't there an easier way?" Neil pleaded._

"_No." Harsh reality, but reality nonetheless._

_Neil nervously laughed. "I'm trapped."_

"_No, you're not." I softly replied._

_**Where on the deck my Captain lies,**_

_**Fallen cold and dead.**_

_At the end of the next day, Neil was the only student remaining in the class. I approached him. "Did you talk to your father?"_

_Neil stammered a bit. "Uh, he didn't like it one bit, but at least he's letting me stay in the play. He won't be able to make, make it. He's in Chicago. But, uh, I think he's gonna let me stay with acting." Neil sounded happier and chipper than the previous night._

"_Really? You told him what you told me?"_

_Neil smiled. "Yeah. He wasn't happy. But he'll be gone at least four days. I don't think he'll make the show, but I think he'll let me stay with it. "Keep up the school work." Thanks." He picked up his books and left. I only hoped I hadn't stepped over boundaries._

_**O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;**_

_**Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills,**_

_Outside of the crowd, I finally manage to catch up to Neil and take a hold of his coat. "Neil. Neil. You have the gift. What a performance You left even me speechless. You have to stay with -" I see a small smile on Neil's lips._

_Mr. Perry shoved Neil aside and speaks firmly and harshly. "Get in the car." He then looks at me. "Keating, you stay away from my son." I see Neil's smile disappear._

_Charlie didn't like what was going on and voiced his protest. "Neil! Neil! Mr. Perry, come on."_

_I sensed something was wrong and I look at Charlie. "Don't make it any worse than it is."_

_As Neil and Mr. Perry get into their car and drive away, I look at my young student and can't help but think I'll be seeing him for the last time._

_**For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--for you the shores accrowding,**_

_**For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;**_

I look around the small shop. No one knew me. I got a couple looks as I wrote, but I blame the tears. I sip my now-getting-colder-by-the-second coffee and recall when I heard the news.

_I heard a pounding on my door. A frantic pound. And I sip my tea, not wanting to be disturbed. I had found sleep to not be pleasant company, so I sought company in Whitman, Thoreau and Tennyson. The pounding, however, doesn't stop with my refusal to answer. "Mr. Keating." The voice is soft and barely recognizable._

_I sigh and open the door and there stood George McAllister, the Latin teacher. "George, it has to be nearing 3 in the morning…"_

"_News just reached us that Neil Perry has killed himself." If he had anymore to say, I don't remember. I was shocked. My prized pupil…the one who loved life to it's fullest…dead? Killed himself?_

"_How?" was all I could say._

_George sighed. "Shot himself. Father's pretty distressed over it"_

"_They say why?" I implored._

_George shook his head. "No, but they'll find you to blame."_

"_Me?"_

"_Mr. Perry evidently believes you had something to do with putting Neil on that stage, against his wishes."_

"_Neil told me he told his father and that everything was okay. He just had to keep the grades up." It was that moment we all fear of our world crashing down on us. My not only crashed at that moment, it was destroyed beyond recognition. (2)_

I knew that in writing it, with the memory so fresh, the tears would fall, and they did. Unapologetically. They fell. Admittedly, I was a little embarrassed, but I had just lost someone that I had grown to care about and my job. The job I loved so much. I knew I made a difference. I hadn't made a big enough one for Neil.

_**Here Captain! dear father!**_

_**This arm beneath your head!**_

_**It is some dream that on the deck**_

_**You've fallen cold and dead.**_

_I sat at Neil's desk the following day, trying to sort things out. I opened the desk and there it was. In gold imblazoned letters was FIVE CENTURIES OF VERSE. I flip through it, settling on the opening page, where I had written Thoreau's words. Grief, guilt and anger swarmed over me and I sobbed. Uncontrollably sobbed._

_**My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,**_

_**My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,**_

_**The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,**_

_**From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;**_

_**Exult O shores, and ring O bells!**_

We're not allowed to cry. We're men. We're adults. Tears are not a part of who we are. But I look to the students and my heart breaks and a few tears fall as I see Charlie, looking beaten and lost, no tears visible. But then again, he was never one to show when he was hurt or angry. I see Todd, trying to sing, but the tears aren't helping. Meeks and Pitts can hardly sing with the tears and Mr. Overstreet, next to Todd, is the only one capable of singing, but even tears are waterfalls from his eyes.

They are in pain and the administration blames me.

The only one I don't see is Richard Cameron, the young man who winds up being the push for my dismissal.

Mr. Perry told me that he holds me responsible.

My heart breaks and I can't heal it. I can't fix it. Now what? What am I to do? Where am I to go? If only…I think as the waitress refills my coffee cup and gives me a sympathetic look. I sip the new hot coffee and think of Whitman and Neil.

The young guys looked to Neil. Charlie, as tough as he was, called Neil his best friend and one would dare say he almost worshipped him. Knox and Meeks and Pitts were the guys Neil pushed to be better than they thought they could be. And Todd. Todd hero worshipped Neil. We all knew it. Without Neil, would even I have made a difference in his life? They called Neil "Captain" and for good reason too. If not for him, the Dead Poets Society would have never been resurrected and he may have never acted. He even, in his own way, helped me to become a better teacher...a better person...a better poet. But, now…now…"Captain" is fallen cold and dead and will never know the difference he made.

_**But I, with mournful tread,**_

_**Walk the deck my Captain lies,**_

_**Fallen cold and dead.**_

I wipe a tear away as I remember "Captain" as the boys called Neil. He was a leader. He never let anyone see how weak he sometimes felt. He certainly didn't let anyone know he had no peace. I hope Neil has found his peace at last, for those of us left in the wake of this have yet to. Least of all me.

* * *

(o) I got this from JOHN KEATING: THEN AND NOW (a FABULOUS story!) by Wilburetta (a FABULOUS writer!) I couldn't think of another way for Neil to get Keating's book. Check out JOHN KEATING: THEN AND NOW. I PROMISE you won't be disappointed. 

(1) I wanted a little insight on Keating's return to Welton. It's short…I know, but I hope it's good.

(2) It was never clear how Keating (or anyone for that fact) found out…so this is my own original idea.

_**This is the end of the story. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks to the reviewers and everyone who read this! If for nothing more than sitting through a bunch of crap! LoL **_


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